Self's punishment - By Bernhard Schlink & Walter Popp Page 0,41

bathed in sweat: Korten and I hiking through the Black Forest – I knew very well that it was the Black Forest in spite of the high cliffs and deep gullies. There were three of us, a classmate was with us, Kimski or Podel. The sky was deep blue, the air heavy and yet surreally clear. Suddenly stones crumbled and bounced away silently down the slope, and we were hanging from a rope that was fraying. Above us was Korten and he looked at me and I knew what he expected of me. Still more of the cliff tumbled silently into the valley; I tried to claw my way up, to secure the rope and pull up the third man. I couldn’t do it and tears of helplessness and despair came to my eyes. I got out my penknife and started to cut through the rope beneath me. I have to do it, I have to, I thought, and cut. Kimski or Podel fell into the ravine. I could see it all at once, flailing arms, getting smaller and smaller in the distance, gentle mockery in Korten’s eyes, as though it were all a game. Now he could pull me up and when he almost had me at the top, sobbing and bleeding, ‘Self, you sweetheart’ came once again, and the rope broke . . .

‘What’s wrong? What’s your name, by the way? I’m Brigitte Lauterbach.’

‘Gerhard Self. If you didn’t come in your own car – may I after this bumpy evening offer you a lift home in my jolting Opel?’

‘Yes, please. I’d have taken a taxi otherwise.’

Brigitte lived in Max-Joseph-Strasse. The goodbye peck on the cheek turned into a long embrace.

‘Would you like to come up, stupid? With a sterilized and raven mother?’

8

An everyday sort of blood

While she fetched wine from the fridge I stood there in her living room with all the awkwardness of the first time. You’re still wary about what might not grate: a canary in a cage, a Peanuts poster on the wall, Yevtushenko in the bookshelves, Barry Manilow on the turntable. Brigitte was guilty of none of the above. Yet the wariness was there – perhaps it’s always in one’s self?

‘Can I make a phone call?’ I called through to the kitchen.

‘Go right ahead. The phone’s in the top drawer of the bureau.’

I opened the drawer and dialled Philipp’s number. It rang eight times before he picked up.

‘Hello?’ His voice sounded oily.

‘Philipp, Gerd here. I hope I’m disturbing you.’

‘You bet, you crazy dick. Yes, it was blood, blood type O, rhesus negative. An everyday sort of blood, so to speak, age of the sample between two and three weeks. Anything else? Sorry, but I’m tied up here. You saw her yesterday, remember, the little Indonesian in the elevator. She brought her friend along. It’s all action.’

Brigitte had come into the room with a bottle and two glasses, poured it, and brought a glass over to me. I’d handed her the extension, and Brigitte looked at me in amusement at Philipp’s last sentences.

‘Do you know anyone at forensics in Heidelberg, Philipp?’

‘No, she doesn’t work at forensics. At McDonald’s at the Planken, that’s where she works. Why?’

‘It’s not Big Mac’s blood type I’m after, but Peter Mischkey’s – he was examined by forensics at Heidelberg. And I’d like to know if you can find out. That’s why.’

‘But it doesn’t have to be right now. Come round instead, let’s talk about it over breakfast. Bring someone with you though. I’m not slogging my guts out so you can come along and lick the cream.’

‘Does she have to be Asian?’

Brigitte laughed. I put my arm round her and she snuggled into me demurely.

‘No, my home is like a Mombasa brothel, all races, all classes, all colours, all lines of business. And if you’re really coming, bring a bottle.’

He hung up. I put my other arm around Brigitte too. She leant back into my arms and looked at me. ‘And now?’

‘Now we take the bottle and the glasses and the cigarettes and the music over to the bedroom and lie down in bed.’

She gave me a little kiss and said in a bashful voice: ‘You go ahead, I’ll be right there.’

She went into the bathroom. Amongst her records I found one by George Winston, put it on, left the bedroom door open, switched on the bedside lamp, undressed, and got into her bed. I felt a little embarrassed. The bed was wide and smelled fresh. If we didn’t sleep